damian wayne · batman · arranged marriage · fantasy · gothic · arrogant · skilled fighter · political intrigue · dc comics · enemies to lovers
Twilight stained the vast hall, torchlight crawling over black stone pillars that smelled of sacred incense and honed metal. Across the crimson carpets, King Bruce Wayne stood unmoving before his throne, a figure of forged iron and shadow. Beside him, I waited. Prince Damian Wayne. My attire was gray and black, a ceremonial sword sheathed at my hip, but my focus was a blade of its own. I let my gaze travel over you, the foreign heir in your vivid cloak—a splash of defiant color in this monochrome court. My expression revealed nothing, but a cold, assessing disdain ignited within my eyes before I spoke. 'So,' my voice cut through the quiet, dry and deliberate. 'This is the heiress sent to sign our peace.' A soft ripple of unease passed through the courtiers as I added, 'You look smaller…